


Don't Bother Introducing Yourself

by bunbunjolras



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Smittenjolras, Telepathy, mind reader!grantaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:39:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunbunjolras/pseuds/bunbunjolras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why not?” Enjolras asked him once they were alone. “Why did you never tell me? Why didn’t you read my thoughts, my mind, whatever. Why not?”</p><p>“Because I already know what you’re thinking,” Grantaire blurted out, not even thinking as he spoke. “I already know how you feel about me, and I don’t want to have to hear you think it, I couldn’t bear it. I never touch your skin because if I do I can’t stop it from happening so I just…don’t, I can’t hear that.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Bother Introducing Yourself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prouvairing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prouvairing/gifts).



> Welcome to Telepathics Anonymous. Don't bother introducing yourself.

Courfeyrac was a constant stream of words, of sensations and of babbling noises, and more often than not it would only take a few minutes for Grantaire to become overwhelmed with it, and he would turn away to find the more peaceful mind of Marius to listen into. If Courfeyrac’s mind was a torrent, Marius’ was a small stream trickling down the mountainside, usually light and a little confused but never too serious.

Combeferre’s seemed to be more like binary, a slow, steady code that Grantaire found himself listening in to by accident sometimes, a lovely smooth flow of emotions and thoughts and words that soothed the mind reader when everything around him was getting a bit too loud. Jehan was just a buzz – a weird, invasive noise that made Grantaire want to scratch his ears – and a never ending splash of colour, and Bahorel was a low, consistant hum.

Enjolras – Grantaire never listened in to Enjolras’ thoughts. He could control this thing, this ability, enough that he could choose which mind to latch on to, but he couldn’t not listen to someone, and so he avoided being alone with Enjolras at all costs. He wanted to see what Enjolras’ mind was like more than anything, to know how it felt to look into it and how it felt, how it sounded, but he was scared. Enjolras hated him, couldn’t stand to be around him, he was certain, and he didn’t need for it to be confirmed, didn’t need to hear it from Enjolras himself. That would just about kill him, he was certain.

He was listening to the slow, strangely soothing babbling of Joly’s overworked mind in the middle of a protest when there was a loud crash and the crowd they were standing in contracted around them suddenly, jolting Grantaire out of Joly’s increasingly alarmed stream of thought, and suddenly there were voices in the air and in his head as people began to shout and panic. The streets were full of people and police and he could see people on horseback and he could hear just snippets of thoughts as he brushed past people – touch made it more intense and unavoidable – and he felt all confused by the noise and the hustle and bustle of the place.

_‘Gotta get out of here-’_

_‘-where’s Cecelia? I can’t see-’_

_‘The blond one is the ringleader, take him down fi-’_

_‘Where did Grantaire g-’_

Grantaire jolted out of his reverie and looked up – a man with a shitty combover and a crumpled shirt was the only static person in the crowd, and he was glaring up at Enjolras where he stood directing people out of the way.

‘Antisocial behaviour,’ the man was thinking. ‘Will probably resist arrest. He’ll go down real easy, looks weak.’

Grantaire pushed his way through the crowd, pushing people out of his way as he tried to move faster than the man to get to him, and once he reached Enjolras he gripped his wrist – hand touching only his shirt, not skin, that wouldn’t be good, he’d not be able to ignore Enjolras’ thoughts that way – and he pulled him around the corner and out of the line of sight of the man. He couldn’t hear his thoughts anymore so there was enough distance between the two of them, but they still needed to get away.

“What are you doing?” Enjolras barked, pulling back his arm from Grantaire’s grip.

“There’s a plain clothes officer just around the corner bent on arresting you,“ Grantaire muttered, leaning around the corner to see if he could see the guy.

 _‘Get out of here, both of you,’_ he heard, and it was Combeferre’s mental voice directed towards him, and he looked around in time to see him disappearing in the opposite direction.

“We’ve got to go, come on,” Grantaire murmured, beckoning for Enjolras to follow him, and they set off down the street, towards a side alley that would bring them out right by the Corinthe, their meeting place for when something went wrong.

“How did you know he was going to arrest me?” Enjolras asked as he trotted after Grantaire, reaching out to touch his shoulder – the dark haired man shied away from him, trying to avoid contact as the number of people in the vicinity began to drop and he found it more and more difficult to find a mind to latch on to in order to avoid delving into Enjolras’. “Did he say something?”

“No, not exactly – let’s just get inside and we can talk about it then, yeah?” he mumbled, trying to avoid eye contact.

They made it to the Corinthe and Jehan met them at the door, offering his hand out to Grantaire to take, and the strange, artificial calm of his mind swept over Grantaire, and he sighed as they headed up the stairs.

“So what the hell is going on here?” Enjolras asked once they were sat down, and the assembled – Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Jehan, Grantaire and Bossuet – all exchanged an uncomfortable look.

_‘You have to tell him.’_

_‘He has to know, Grantaire.’_

_‘It’ll be fine, we’re here for you.’_

“Okay, shut up a moment,” Grantaire barked, and Enjolras’ eyes raised – no one had said anything, he must look mad.

“What’s going on? Do they all know what’s happening here?” Enjolras asked, looking around at all of them.

 _‘Just say it,_ ’ Jehan insisted.

“It sounds ridiculous,” Grantaire hissed back, before sighing as the poet squeezed his hand uncomfortably tight.

“Grantaire can read minds,” Combeferre said in a low tone. “He can hear thoughts of people around him and he’s been able to do so since before we all met him.”

Enjolras’ face went pink, then red, and he looked thoroughly shocked, then he looked entirely mortified, and after a moment he sighed and dropped his head down onto his hands where they rested on the table.

“You know what I’ve been thinking?” he croaked after a moment. “You – you heard it?”

“No!” Grantaire barked. “God, no. I’ve never – I would never – no. I never wanted to, and I wouldn’t do it if you weren’t okay with it.”

Enjolras raised his head a little and looked up at Grantaire with one blue eye. “Really?” he asked, sitting up. “Like…never ever?”

“Never ever,” Grantaire insisted, and he looked up in time to see everyone else drifting away from them, Jehan offering one last touch to his shoulder, and he clung to their connection, to the familiar white noise his friend provided for him.

“Why not?” Enjolras asked him once they were alone. “Why did you never tell me? Why didn’t you read my thoughts, my mind, whatever. Why not?”

“Because I already know what you’re thinking,” Grantaire blurted out, not even thinking as he spoke. “I already know how you feel about me, and I don’t want to have to hear you think it, I couldn’t bear it. I never touch your skin because if I do I can’t stop it from happening so I just…don’t, I can’t hear that.”

Enjolras’ face fell, and he opened and closed his mouth for a few moments before closing it and nodded, his face flushed in patches, blotchy all the way down his neck as his eyes watered just a little.

“Okay, that’s – yeah, fine. That’s understandable.” He sniffed and turned away a little. “I still don’t understand why I didn’t know and everyone else did.”

“Because I didn’t think you’d care. You hate me. I’m hopelessly in love you with you and you can’t stand me.”

Enjolras’ took a deep, shaky breath, and let it out slowly, and after a moment he started laughing, a low, slightly worrying chuckle at first that evolved quickly into a rather hysterical cackle, and Grantaire sat and watched as he became breathless and clutched at the table before he calmed down enough to look up at Grantaire, beaming, his face wet with tears.

“You’re an idiot,” he breathed, voice stretched by tears. “You’re a real fucking idiot. Here.” He reached across the table for Grantaire’s hand, but the man refused to take it. “Grantaire, take my hand.”

Never one to deny Enjolras anything, Grantaire reached across the table and brushed his fingers ever so gently against Enjolras’ palm, and he had to bite back a gasp at what he felt.

Pure, unabashed affection, bright and pink behind his eyes, a strong jolt of lust, red and hot, and love surged through him, and he could hear a low, worried stream of thoughts beneath the sensations and colours of Enjolras’ emotions, and he let out a shocked laugh as he listened to it.

_‘I don’t hate him, I could never hate him, how did he ever think that, what did I do wrong to make him think that I hated him, I love him, I love him, love him, love him, all I can think about when he’s nearby is kissing him, touching him, holding him, how didn’t he notice I’m so fucking obvious I knew the moment I saw him that I’d love him and here I am I can’t get him out of my head.’_

“I don’t hate you, see,” Enjolras murmured. “Quite the opposite.”

Grantaire laughed and stood up from his chair, moving closer so as he was leaning his weight on the table, curling forwards towards Enjolras, and he pressed his forehead to the blond’s gently before leaning in to kiss him gently. The burst of joy that passed through him was dizzying, and he brought a hand up to Enjolras’ cheek gently and smiled against his lips.

“Your brain is loud,” Grantaire murmured after a few moments of silence, of just feeling Enjolras’ skin warm against his own and smiling like a fool as Enjolras’ slender fingers trailed through his hair.

“It’s only loud when you’re around,” Enjolras responded. “It’s only loud when I think about you.”

Grantaire smiled and leaned down to kiss Enjolras again, the litany that echoed through his mind soothing, reassuring and a wonderful reminder of what had just happened.

_‘I love him. I love him.’_


End file.
